stardust and gossamer scarves
by decrescence
Summary: In which they are reborn in Paris during the Christmastime. EreMika. AU.


**a/n: here's to my first eremika oneshot. merry christmas, guys. i hope you all have lovely holidays with your families. ^^**

* * *

**_un._**

Paris is alive during Christmastime.

Of course, Eren thinks, Paris is _always_ alive, but during the Christmas season, the city practically springs to life with anticipation and excitement for the well-loved holiday.

It seems as if all the citizens of France are walking Paris's streets at the same time, he notices heatedly, making several attempts to push past the thick throng of people in front of him. All his efforts are in vain, though, and all the mahogany-haired boy can do is sigh and move with the flow of the crowd.

After several moments, Eren hoists himself up and stands on the tips of his worn shoes, surveying his surroundings with a quick, 180-degree sweep. It appears that he is still in the exact place as he was before, with the same patch of blue sky overhead and the same cobblestone pavement below, and growing annoyed, he makes another attempt at pushing past the people before him.

Slightly angry faces soon turn to face him, and irritated voices fill his ears with hisses of: "Back off, kid!" "Watch where you're going!" and the like.

A blond-haired man even spits at his feet, calls him _'filth', _and shoves him back, hard, by the shoulders, but Eren has grown used to this treatment by now and although he his bones ache to find back, he does nothing but dust himself off, adjust his tattered newsboy hat, and check that the small pocket of coins at his belt is still there.

But it isn't.

Quickly, Eren swivels around, and his eyes bristle as they search for any potential culprits. But there are too many people, even more than there usually are, and the criminal would have no problem blending in and getting away, he realizes.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Eren has no choice but to let the crowd move him forward, and when the trio in front of him suddenly halts, he clumsily stumbles into one of them. The man in the middle pivots faster than lighting, and Eren is pushed to the ground before he can utter even the smallest of apologies.

The man's ugly face twists into a smirk when he intones, "Put some meat on those bones, kid. You're weak as hell."

Eren waits for the man's footfalls to lead him away before responding: "I _can't_."

* * *

**_deux._**

The narrow alleyway Eren's family sleeps, eats, and lives in seems even darker the following morning, despite the shining daylight ribbons spilling through the large gap between the buildings that encompass them in their shadows.

Heaving a sigh, Eren shifts himself into a sitting position. He idly notices his parents are still asleep, tucked under a battered gray blanket that he had found in the trash bins last year.

The other clusters of people in the alleyway—families and the orphans they took in—also seem to be asleep, so he is careful to stay quiet as he reaches for the water canteen beside the old sweater he uses as a pillow. He takes a small swig and swallows before pacing towards his family's supply of food.

The paper bag almost withers in his hands when he reaches into it, wilting like a flower that had been kept from the sun for too long. The bag's only contents are a tiny roll of stale bread, a bruised apple, and two croissants, but Eren knows better than to complain. His face remains empty as he reaches for the bread.

He gingerly places the bag back on the ground and steps backwards, almost kicking aside the makeshift Christmas tree he had fashioned out of various items he found in the dumpsters in the process.

A lump rises in his throat at the sight of the tree and the two crudely wrapped gifts underneath it. Both are undoubtedly for him, from his parents.

Out of habit, Eren's hand flits to his belt, but the gossamer material of his coin pocket is not there to greet him. His teeth clench at its absence; with that money he could have bought a new sweater for his father, pair of shoes for his mother, and enough food to keep them alive for a week, but now, the money is gone.

He hangs his head and bites back tears.

* * *

**_trois._**

Eren spends the entire day stationed outside the door of a modest café sitting at the northeastern corner of Paris for no purpose in particular, except for the fact that he had simply let his consciousness tug him along the streets until he ended up there.

For some reason, the noises rising from inside the coffee shop are music to his ears, and he finds himself enjoying the sounds of clinking coffee mugs, soft conversation, and laughter despite the cold weather. There is something about the harmony of the sounds when put together, he contemplates, that makes it all sound like music; but with time, the thoughts fade away.

The smells of coffee and assorted pastries wafting towards him from the half-open window above his head are enough to make Eren kneel at the café's door and beg, but he does not. He pulls the red of his scarf more tightly around his neck, closes his eyes, and listens, instead.

Minutes tick by, and Eren remains at peace. Every clock in the world could have stopped, and he would not have noticed. For a while, all he does is breathe.

Then there is a touch on the bill of his hat, so soft that it may have been a dream, and a loaf of bread falls gently into his lap before he lifts his head to acknowledge it.

A girl with every color of stardust in her eyes stands in front of him, and he is speechless.

* * *

**_quatre._**

Eren's mother, Carla, is at a loss for words when he hands her the loaf of bread. Her features are full of questions, but she is silent as she parts the bread into three equal rations and gives him one portion back.

_"How?"_ is all she says, her voice weighed down with wonder.

Eren considers for a moment. "Stole it, Ma," he decides with a low laugh, knowing that she would believe him. "from this large, burly guy. He shouted when I took it and came after me, but I hit him across the side of his head like this—" He swipes his piece of bread in the air to demonstrate. "—and I got away and ran back here."

His father gives a good natured hoot and murmurs, "That's my boy."

Grinning, Eren chuckles lightly in return while carefully tearing the bread into two. He takes a hearty bite, and in between chews, he remembers the girl with the stardust eyes. He swallows.

Through the years, there have only been a handful of people who have ever done such a thing for him, and it happened as follows:

When Eren was six, a woman dropped a bear into his small, pudgy hands to stop him from crying. The bear's nose was crooked, and its left ear was hanging by a thread, but he loved it all the same.

During the winter four years later, a teenage boy by the name of Levi placed his own cap on Eren's head when he saw him running home in the rain. It is the same one he still wears today.

There was once an old grandmother who handed him a few coins and a crinkled paper bill. He never did find out why.

And the last of the list is the girl.

Eren wishes he would have at least thanked her.

* * *

**_cinq._**

He sits at the café's entrance and waits for the girl from dusk to dawn the next day.

She does not come.

* * *

**_six._**

The sun is perched high on its thrown in the clouds as Eren paces down cobblestone pavement.

The streets are even more densely packed than the days before, and he keeps a tight grip on his fraying newsboy cap, pulling its bill downwards so that it covers his face in shadows. The muted shuffle of his footsteps against the road pales in comparison to the lively roar of the crowd. He stays at the outskirts of the throng, where there is still room to breathe, and weaves himself through the labyrinth of civilians chattering amongst friends and family. The feat is easy enough for him to accomplish—he is thin for a boy of fifteen.

"Thank God," he murmurs gratefully as the crowd thins near the end of the alley. With the sweep of his hand, he plucks his hat from his head and rakes his fingers through his earth-colored hair.

The number of shops around him has decreased to a mere amount, the only ones among them being a run-down candy shop, an empty restaurant, and a clothing store that seems as if it is toying with the clutch of bankruptcy.

Eren moves to peer into the clouded windows of the stores, trailing a finger across the dirtied glass. Each item on display is still too expensive for someone with an empty wallet, he realizes, although the prices are admittedly lower than average.

A deep sigh rises from the pit of his stomach, and he releases it heavily, watching his breath fog the translucent surface.

The air is uncomfortably silent for a while, and Eren stills against brick. Everything surrounding him appears almost frozen, but then there is a little flicker in the corner of his peripheral vision, and a form steps out from behind another shop.

It is the girl from the café, and she sees him before he sees her. Eren turns briskly at the sight of her, and his footsteps carry him away from her place. After a few paces, he pauses. Shouldn't he be thanking her for before?

He sneaks a glance at her from underneath his cap, and to his surprise, she is smiling softly, head cocked to the side and lips lifted in the gentlest of smiles. He can't help but stare, and neither can he find it in himself to step back when she approaches him.

"Hello," she says, with a voice that sounds like rain.

He nods brusquely. "Hi."

The girl holds out her hand, and hesitantly, Eren puts out his own to shake it but stops when he notices what hers hold. In the palm of her hand lies a small pile of glimmering coins atop a couple paper notes.

Stepping backwards, Eren shakes his head in refusal. "No," he says, "I can't."

His words are met with another smile. "I think you need this more than I do. Go on,"

"I don't," he says, his voice sounding stronger than he feels. "I don't need anything of yours."

He wheels around, takes off, and does not look back.

* * *

**_sept._**

Eren does not open his eyes when he wakes the next morning because of the lead that takes root in the marrow of his bones and the steel that laces around his heart. He lies in the darkness for several eternities and does not remove his head from the clouds but stumbles back into his dreams from the night before.

She is there, with soft laughter written on her lips, and he realizes that has never found black hair as beautiful as he does now.

She is there, but she is different; there are red shadows draped neatly over her shoulders and around her neck, and Eren notices it as his own scarf. He reaches for the feel of the soft red at his neck, and as expected, it is not there.

And surprisingly, it does not bother him.

He wakes up with an idea in his mouth.

* * *

**_huit._**

Eren arrives at the café at daybreak, and the girl is already there, waiting.

Their greetings go unsaid, any lingering questions unanswered, and upon seeing her hands cupped in her lap, holding something—the money she had offered him the day before, most likely—Eren tugs at his scarf to loosen its grip on his neck and adjusts his cap soon after.

She stands when he approaches, but before she can part her lips to utter even a 'hello,' Eren asks, "What's your name?"

If she is surprised at his forwardness, the girl's face does not convey it, and the corners of her lips rise slightly. "Mikasa," she answers, and Eren nods. The name fits her. "And you're—?"

"Eren—"

"—Eren Yeager, right?"

At the sound of his full name, Eren steps backwards in surprise, and his stare becomes one full of shock. "How did you know?" he asks, voice jutting.

Mikasa's smile fades at his words, and she seems to think it through. Hesitantly, her right hand lifts, and there is a nuance, a soft flicker, of unsteadiness in her movements.

Eren freezes when he notices what is in her hold: a small coin pouch—the very same one that was stolen from him days ago. His stare focuses, and he sees _'Eren Yeager'_ carved against the thin, chestnut leather.

"Where did you get that?" his words are gruff, and fear glints in the girl's soft expression. "That's mine."

"Yes," she says quickly, and her voice seems to plead with him. "I wanted to give it back to you. My father—he stole it from you; times have been tough for us, too, but what he did was wrong, and you should have this back."

Frozen winds whisper to them, and the pair both glances up in unison. The sky is growing darker, Eren notices, and in the bend of his vision, he glimpses Mikasa shiver. He watches her pull the cotton fabric of her sweater closer to her skin, and that is when he realizes that her clothing is as thin, worn, and tattered as his.

When he plucks the pouch from her grasp, his fingers brush against hers, and bitter iciness runs through him. His eyes move to the rosy flush of her porcelain cheeks. How long has she been out in the cold? he wonders.

Eren shifts his gaze to his coin pouch, and carefully, he pulls at the thin cord around its mouth to open it. Peering into the pocket, he counts the coins to himself softly and once he has done so, starts to empty its contents into his hands.

"It's all there," Mikasa promises, but before she can say more, glimmering coins roll onto the cloth of her gloves, and Eren offers her a crooked half-smile, tipping what appears to be half of his entire life's savings towards her.

"I can't," she says quickly, echoing his words from before. She holds the coins back to him, shaking her head.

Eren gives a short laugh. "I think you need this money as much as I do," he murmurs. "Merry Christmas."

"Christmas isn't about _money_," Mikasa insists. "Thank you, but this is all rightfully yours."

"I know," Eren says. "Christmas is about giving—so take it; it's my gift to you." He reaches for the red of his scarf, inhales once, and removes it, and with a single swift motion, wraps it around Mikasa's shoulders instead. "And keep warm. It's cold out here."

For a moment, Mikasa looks as if she is going to refuse but seems to think better of it and nods in agreement. She takes the coins, places them into her pocket, and reaches up to adjust the scarf at her neck. Then she pulls off her black gloves by the fingertips and finds Eren's hands with her own bare ones. She notices the crescent scars covering the ivory of his skin that look like they have been with him for several lifetimes but does not mention anything of them and slips his hands through the black material.

"You stay safe, too, Eren," she says, and when Eren turns to walk away, he feels as light as air.


End file.
